


It Starts With A Canvas

by thewhalesaid



Category: Captain America
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-15
Updated: 2012-10-15
Packaged: 2017-11-16 08:39:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/537571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewhalesaid/pseuds/thewhalesaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky wants to give Steve a gift, give him a subject to draw. Steve just wants to spend time with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Starts With A Canvas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [youwouldneverfly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/youwouldneverfly/gifts).



> [this](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mbmrozrUZU1qz4d4bo1_500.jpg) is the image I based this off of. I also was about halfway through, realized, wow, this totally doesn't work like I had in mind, but I'm lazy. So I didn't change anything. Whoops.
> 
> Have some fluff, otterr. Happy birthday.

" Are we almost done ?"  
  
Bucky's words don't so much cut the silence in the air ( what silence, considering the scritch-scratch noise, the bristles on the cheap set of paintbrushes he remembers wrapping up in -- mostly clean -- newspaper, a few years back ) as they do bring attention to it.  
  
It's quiet. He'd say it's too quiet, but that's not true.  
  
Not with the soft hum, low from the back of Steve's throat, the noise of water in the old jam jar that's now stained with paint, the quiet shuffle of Steve's feet ( wearing the horrible socks he got Bucky for Christmas -- and been handed an hour earlier, when it started to rain ).  
  
It's quiet, but too quiet.  
  
" Bucky … "  
  
The words are spoken in a soft sigh, and Bucky knows that, after the hundredth time of asking, even Steve must be feeling a little annoyed. So, he cracks a grin, and lounges back against the chair, where his legs are draped before him and his body, a comfortable slouch against the deceivingly-firm piece of equipment.  
  
" Fine, fine, " he sighs, just as Steve frowns.  
  
" Stop moving. " As an afterthought, " Please. " And then, " I'm almost done. "  
  
This gets Bucky to stop squirming, to stop shifting weight in the seat and trying to rearrange himself so that the bones in his ass weren't digging uncomfortably against the seat. It gets him to stop reaching up to scratch the scruff lining his jaw, and tapping out a rhythm with his toes.  
  
It doesn't, however, stop him from sitting up a little more in excitement, grin widening.  
  
" Really ? You gonna let me see it this time ?"  
  
His voice is mockingly accusatory, but Steve seems to take it personally, ducking his head behind the canvas and mixing together a last bit of paint on the brush. He's running low -- Bucky's been watching him add more and more water, to try and conserve the colour.  
  
Maybe he'll be able to buy a used set; the elementary school down the street usually has a few, and Steve doesn't have to find out. Bucky never hears the end of it, when he supposedly takes from the future generation, to gift Steve.  
  
In his defense, the seven year old girl had been more than happy to give her markers, in exchange for a bag of chocolates.  
  
Markers that Steve had proceeded to use, asking Bucky if he'd sit for him -- then refusing to let Bucky see. Said something about it being a base outline, about how he'd show him when it was all done.  
  
Bucky's not sure, for all the paying attention he's been doing for the past two hour, not much of it has been on what Steve's doing, more focused on the tilt of his nose, and the slight draw of his shoulders, the way his eyes trail over every inch of Bucky from across the room, taking him in.  
  
The way Bucky quickly -- much, much too quickly -- lets him.  
  
" I'll show you when it's finished, " is the quiet, mumbled response, and Bucky's sigh is a lot more dramatic than the feeling behind it.  
  
Nevertheless, a comfortable quiet ( not silence ) settles between them once more. Bucky's mind goes drifting again, and he might be tapping his toes again, but he's glancing out of the window, watching the rain, when Steve finally speaks.  
  
" I, er. I'm done. But -- " his voice interrupts Bucky's immediate inhale of excitement, knowing, much too well, that Bucky's about ready to sprint across the room to see. " I, er. I'm not very … It's not very … "  
  
" I'm sure it's great, " Bucky interrupts, on cue, getting up from the chair. He allows himself the split-second liberty of arching his back, uncomfortable after sitting for so long. A split-second is all Steve needs.  
  
" I'm really shy about this, " he blurts out, his cheeks a dark pinkish hue. " So, uh. Could you wait until I'm gone to look at it ?"  
  
Bucky's frowning by now -- he just spent the past two hours sitting on a chair, chattering aimlessly about life, past, present, and future, to Steve, and now the kid decides to get shy ? But Steve doesn't wait for an answer, just mutters a quick, " thanks, " and ducks out of the room.  
  
Bucky's left alone -- now, it's too quiet.  
  
He shakes his head, quickly dismissing any thought of how weird Steve's departure is, before he makes his way over, and slowly turns the canvas over to look. He's expecting to see big, blue eyes, a too-large jaw, his messy hair and boney shoulders, staring back at him, but the result makes his eyebrows shoot to his hairline. It's a dark blue background, with words, easily printed, gone over in about five different colours. Something that couldn't have taken more than ten minutes to finish.  
  
" I just really wanted to spend time with you today, thank you. I know you wanted to go hang out with your buddies but … Thanks. It was a good birthday present. -- Steve. "  
  
" That punk, " Bucky mutters to himself, before setting the canvas down and grabbing his coat. " Steve !"


End file.
